


timestamps

by stylinsoncity



Series: the wonderlands [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, POV Multiple, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinsoncity/pseuds/stylinsoncity
Summary: short timestamps from 'the wonderlands' au.





	1. December 2018

**Author's Note:**

> I clearly have a problem letting go.

**DECEMBER 2018**

Harry realizes eventually he’ll have to find a job. (Not for the income, obviously.) But as it is, he fully enjoys his time decorating and gardening and cooking and waiting somewhat patiently for Louis to get home. He especially loves when Louis gets home.

That night, like a handful of other nights, he starts on a bottle of wine, setting an extra glass on the coffee table, its polished body reflecting the glow of the telly and the Christmas tree poised by the fireplace. He puts his socked feet up beside the glass and sinks down into the couch, stroking Pepper between the ears.

 _Dan In Real Life_ is on, and whenever Harry laughs, he wishes Louis were there beside him, laughing too. Moments or thoughts like that surprise him still. Harry is utterly and ridiculously in love and feels it most when he’s being completely human. Because it seems he can’t do ordinary things anymore without thinking even for a second about how Louis might be involved too.

If lovesickness were fatal, Harry would be terminally ill.

He’s not really had a ton of time to just _be_ in love. He went from realising he loved Louis, to marrying Louis, to moving in with Louis. It’s all a little overwhelming sometimes. In the best possible way, yes, but overwhelming, still.

When the front door shuts, he sits up a bit, tilting his head back to peer over the edge of the couch. He hears Louis’ keys hit the kitchen counter. And his discarded shoes thudding on the floor. He thinks he hears his socked feet. And then he’s there, looming, pressing a kiss to Harry’s mouth.

“Hi,” Louis says, softly, his arms sliding around Harry’s shoulders. His hair is feather soft and smells of the shampoo they share. The strands tickle Harry’s face as he pushes his nose into them.

“Hi,” Harry replies, resisting the urge to hold onto Louis by his lapels. “Dinner’s in the microwave.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, after another kiss. “I’ll be back.”

Belle gets up from the floor and follows Louis into the kitchen. Harry pops the cork from the wine bottle and fills the spare glass. He listens to Louis chatting with the dog nonsensically — ‘did you have a good day, love? Yes, you did’ — and snagging his food from the microwave. Minutes later, he returns to the couch and his tie is gone. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Louis kept a mental catalogue of Harry’s turn-ons, big or small. A full suit is always a knee-weakening look, but it’s approximate business attire that delivers the most succinct punch — a loose tie (or no tie at all), unfastened buttons, and rolled sleeves.

Louis sighs once he’s sitting and then looks at Harry again, smiling. “How was your day?”

Harry faces him, putting his feet up on the couch cushion between them. “Alright. Saw Niall for a bit this morning. He’s dating someone.”

Louis widens his eyes as he slices into his chicken. “ _No_.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums into his wine glass. “Her name’s Justine. She’s also a solicitor and she has a son. I asked if he was prepared to handle that, and do you know what he said to me?”

“What?” Louis asks with his mouth full.

“He said if I could find a man when I’ve got a daughter, why can’t Justine find someone too?”

“He’s got you there.”

“What he doesn’t know is that I used extreme powers of seduction to snag you.”

Louis’ brows wrinkle. “I don’t think I remember those.”

“That’s because I was so smooth about it.”

“Wait. I do recall the face mask you were wearing when I came by that one time,” Louis says. “You thought it was Niall at the door. Then you tried to peel the thing off and it left that residue behind.” He shivers. “Very seductive, yeah. I was done for.”

Harry kicks him in the thigh with his big toe. “You’re not supposed to mention that.” That was admittedly a very dark time in their lives. The sex was remarkable, but the rest…

“The shirt with the pineapples was sexy too,” Louis adds.

“Anyway,” Harry says with a huff of breath. “I suggested we do a double date.”

“Sounds fun,” Louis says, lifting his wine glass. “Food’s delicious by the way, love.”

Harry hides his smile with a sip of wine, humming so Louis knows he’s heard him. Louis finishes his dinner, sets his plate on the coffee table and draws Harry’s foot into his lap, setting his hand atop his knee. For a while, it’s quiet like that. Because Harry’s in the middle of a conversation via text with Andy and Louis is half-engrossed in whatever’s showing now.

 ** _Why do u always asks me that?_** Andy asks. **_I’m not interested in every girl I tell u about._**

**Uh, never said you were! You sound very guilty.**

**_We’re just FRIENDS!_ **

**Stop yelling at me. :(**

**_Have to go. Drinks with the girls._ **

**;) ;) sounds fun!**

**Ur the worst.**

Andy bids Harry good night and Harry sets his mobile down and looks at Louis. It’s so dark in the living room Louis probably (hopefully) won't see. So Harry looks as much as he wants. He studies the stubble and the slight part of his lips and the bit of chest hair in the V of his shirt and the tattoos decorating his forearm thrown across Harry’s leg and his wedding band.

Louis tilts his head towards him. “What?”

“You’re not supposed to know I’m staring at you.”

“I always know when you’re staring at me.”

“You know me too well then,” Harry says. “I don’t think I like that.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Harry smirks. “Don’t know yet.” He sits upright, sits closer, and Louis sets his wine glass down. Harry touches his jaw, feels his pulse flutter beneath his pinkie. “I didn’t ask you how your day was.”

“Better now,” Louis says, right before Harry kisses him.

Harry prays they never stop kissing like this. Their lips meet and mingle in the manner of teenage sweethearts and it always gets a bit hot and heavy like there’s too much emotion pent up and nowhere left for it to go. Even in the morning before Louis leaves for work. A goodbye kiss can last ages until Louis forces himself away or promises Harry ‘later’. He hadn’t said that this morning, but it’s later and Harry might get what he wants anyhow.

“Tired?” Harry asks.

“No,” Louis says.

Louis is _always_ tired, but Harry knows he means not _too_ tired. Not tired enough to go to sleep when they could do this:

Harry kisses his neck and the slope between his collarbones, tugging his belt buckle and his fly open blindly. He pulls the belt free of its loops and drops it just as blindly, hears it clatter on the floor somewhere. And then, pulling his hair into a fist behind his head, Harry ducks his head into Louis’ lap.

He lives for that little breath Louis sucks between his lips when his cock is fully submerged in his mouth. Harry lives for the quickening of each inhale and exhale when the pressure and the warmth is just right. He lives for the earthy smell of him and the taste. He’d be concerned about his addiction if the drug were anything else.

But being that he’s married to this man, it’s probably fine if he can’t get enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do subscribe! 
> 
> these won't be written in chronological order. some may take place before the start of the wonderlands and some might take place well into the future. and maybe one will be written from Andy's POV! who knows?? this has no narrative structure, meaning i can do whatever i want!! ha ha HA.
> 
> much love xx


	2. October 2018

**OCTOBER 2018**

“Why not enjoy married life for a bit?” his mum asks, not totally but mostly to Harry’s surprise. They’re at a cafe in Chelsea for Saturday brunch. It’s a bit pricey but Harry hasn't seen his mum or sister since Gemma's wedding. He thought he'd splurge given the occasion: their reunion and his baby news.

“That’s what I’m doing,” Harry says, feeling a bit disgruntled about the cost of the champagne when his family isn’t celebrating the way he thought they would. “I’m enjoying it, but I think Louis and I would enjoy it more with a baby.”

His mum looks at Gemma, as if for help. But it’s clear Gemma doesn’t know what to say. “You’ve been looking after another person since you were _seventeen_ , darling. You’ve never had time to just be you and be with someone,” his mum says. “You’ve always had to think about balancing a relationship with raising a child. And now Andy’s out on her own and you’re in a relationship. I just don’t see why you wouldn’t want to do that for a while and then consider children.”

“I’m not really _considering_ children, am I? I’ve already made up my mind about it. It’s not like I’m dating Louis. I’m married to him and I definitely want to have children with him. Just one, for right now,” Harry says. “He put off adopting for me. He’s wanted this for years and then I came along. And I don’t think it’s fair to prolong something he’s wanted for that long just because of me.”

“But you’re not just doing it for him, are you?” Gemma asks, her eyes slightly narrowed.

“ _No_ ,” Harry says. “It’s for me and him both. At most, we’d put it off for a year and I don’t see the point. The surrogacy process takes about that long. There’s no harm in getting started now.”

His mum sets her hand on his forearm and Harry redirects his attention. “I never looked forward to you two leaving home," she says, "but when you did, it left me with a lot of time on my hands. And your dad and I have made the best of it, and it’s been fun. It’s rewarding when you know the work is done. This is your time now to just feel rewarded. But you know we would support you no matter what. And that we’d welcome another grandchild without question.”

Gemma squeezes his hand, says something about welcoming a new niece or nephew happily, but Harry can hardly hear them. Somehow he makes it through the rest of his meal. But his head is spinning.

Because he _is_ in a rush as it turns out. And he didn’t think there was anything so wrong with that until now.

He and Louis are expecting company that evening for dinner: A friend from the industry named Dylan and his wife who are moving to London, as well as Liam and a woman he’s been ‘spending time’ with recently. (The new paint has dried and their dining room looks lovely and inviting and begs them to host.) It’s absolutely the wrong time to bring it up when their guests are expected any minute and the duck still needs another ten minutes in the oven and careful vigilance. But Louis is there beside him in the kitchen, polishing some wine glasses and Harry must be too quiet or too _something_. Because Louis bumps their hips together.

“What’s up?”

Harry lowers his wine glass, turning away from the kitchen window where he was staring dismally into the void. “Nothing.”

Louis looks at him, brows arched.

Harry sets his wine glass down, a tiny smile ghosting his lips. “I don’t think I should talk about it before dinner.”

“Well, now you have to,” Louis says, laughing. “‘Cause I won’t stop thinking about whatever you want to say.”

“That’s fair,” Harry says, chewing his bottom lip. “Do you think we’re moving too fast with the surrogacy?”

The rag in Louis’ hands slows and then he stops altogether with the glass he’s polishing. He looks at Harry again, his face painfully impassive. “No, but now I think you do.”

“I don’t,” Harry says. “But my mum thinks we might be. And she made a fair point, I guess. That I’ve never had time to just be with someone while not raising another someone.”

“That _is_ a fair point,” Louis says. He scratches his scalp and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, but he does. He looks through the window again. “I’m thinking...that if anything the fact that I’ve done it before makes me more excited to do it with you. And I’m thinking that I love being a dad. It was hard, yes, but I don’t regret it. And I’m looking forward to figuring all that out again with you, and I’m looking forward to you being a dad, to us being dads together. I’m thinking that I want this all to go perfectly, even when I know that’s not possible. But I’d like to do everything in the best way, in the most sensible way. I don’t want to rush anything if slowing down would be better for us.”

Louis steps close to him, putting his hands on Harry’s hips, tilting his head until their gazes meet. “I want the same things,” he says. The doorbell rings and Louis sighs, holding Harry tightly for just a second. “If you needed more time, I’d understand.”

“It’s not just about me. It’s about _us_ ,” Harry says. “You've always wanted a baby, I know that. But you have to factor me into things too. I know you're ready. And I'm ready. But are _we_ ready? We’re partners, yeah? So I’m…consulting you, as my partner, on whether or not we should take another year or if it’s fine that we just plunge right into this.”

Louis glances towards the hall. “I’ll get the door," which is a diversion and they both know it.

He goes to step away. Harry pulls him back, pressing a kiss to his mouth before he releases him. The doorbell rings again and Louis heads off.

Harry polishes the last glass and opens a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. He fills each as Liam trickles in, kissing his cheek. Everything moves quickly after that. They all take glasses and the kitchen/dining room fills up with the sound of their chatter and the music filtering into the space from the stereo in the living room. And Harry’s duck is perfect and crispy and golden brown. They open another two bottles of wine and the conversation ventures into those forbidden areas you only approach after a glass or two.

He and Louis are sat at either end of the table, aiding each other in reciting a story from New Zealand about a couple of swingers they met on a boat headed to the Milford Sound.

“They invited you _where_?” Elvia, Liam’s date, asks.

“She called it a ‘seance at the sound’ but I think it was supposed to be like a mystical, moonlit nudist party. They said we couldn’t wear clothes and we had to come at midnight,” Harry explains.

“I bet you were up for it,” Liam says.

Harry shrugs, looks at Louis again. Louis laughs. “We planned to go,” he confesses. "Just to check it out."

“What stopped you?” Dylan asks.

“Babe?” Louis looks at Harry expectantly.

Harry rests his face against his palm, sheepishly. “I fell asleep.”

The table laughs, and so on. It’s a perfectly low-key night. Afterwards, Dylan has a cigar in the backyard with Louis, and Harry tags along. It’s a little chilly, so Harry presses close to Louis’ side and Louis slips an arm around his waist after rubbing his back in an attempt to warm him up.

Harry hates cigars (and if they’re trying to quit smoking altogether, this isn't the way to do it). But Louis looks sort of sexy when he’s holding one. Not to glorify the mafia, but he does have a Tony Soprano swagger about him that Harry feels a little hot for. He accepts the cigar when Louis hands it to him.

“What?” he asks when he sees Louis looking at him amusedly.

“That’s not such a bad look on you.”

Harry exhales, coughing a bit. “Was just thinking the same about you.” He kisses him. “I want to dance.”

“You always want to dance.”

Harry smiles. “Dylan,” he addresses the other man. “We’re going inside to dance.”

He takes Louis’ hands and starts leading him towards the door. In the living room, Liam, Elvia and Dylan’s wife, Ruby, are all chatting. Well, Ruby is sort of chatting, sort of swaying to the music with Pepper in her arms. Everyone, at this point, is beyond tipsy.

Harry taps around Spotify on Louis’ phone until he finds something he likes. Something _they_ like.

And walks toward Louis, snapping his fingers to the beat. Louis laughs, half-embarrassed. Harry takes him by the hips. “You love this song,” he says.

Louis doesn’t deny it, starting to sway with Harry. They link their fingers together and move languidly, slotting their hips together. Louis sets one hand on Harry’s lower back. Harry rests his head against his shoulder. He hums the beat into his ear. He feels the gazes of one or two of their friends but doesn’t care. He spins Louis out and tugs him back in, the two of them giggling.

“You two are so cute,” Elvia says drunkenly. “They are so cute, Liam. I want to dance too.”

Then they’re all sort of dancing with each other. Harry with Liam. And Louis with Elvia and Ruby. And Dylan comes inside and joins them. And it’s such a blast. It’s exactly the kind of night Harry would want to have every day of his life if possible.

He’s slumped over Liam, a bit sloppily, when he remembers...

“Louis and I are going to have a baby,” he tells Liam, speaking into his ear, and Liam draws back, his eyes wide. Harry laughs, “I’m really nervous and maybe a little scared to mess any of this up. But I’ve never wanted anything more. And I don’t want to wait. Should I wait?”

“Wait for what?” Liam asks.

“For us… to be more settled or something…together…” Harry shrugs. “We only just got married. Maybe we should take more time to just be married.”

“But you don’t want to do that?”

“No, but I’m wrong about things I want all the time.”

“And Louis? What does he think about that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Trust Louis,” Liam says. “Trust this.” He waves about the house which Harry takes as a gesture at his and Louis’ union and their life together and it’s the simplest answer but the best.

Other couples might enter into all this and feel confused by how quickly things moved. Other couples might look back in two years with a baby and wonder why they hadn’t slowed down. But Harry can trust Louis. He trusts Louis. And even in a year, if they do feel overwhelmed, he trusts that they’ll weather that storm together.

“Holy shit,” Liam says suddenly, breaking away from him, holding him at an arm’s length. It's like it's just hit him. “I’m so happy for you, Haz. This is incredible.” And then he yanks him back into a crushing hug. “Louis,” he calls. “Come here, mate.”

In a second, Louis is there beside them, looking confused. Liam pulls them both into his chest. It’s hot and hard to breathe and when he releases them, they both gasp for breath, their faces flushed.

“I’m so happy for you both,” Liam says.

“Thank you,” Louis says, laughing, though he’s still clearly confused.

“You’re going to make great dads,” Liam adds. "Haz is already a great dad. But you're going to make great dads together."

Louis looks at Harry, both brows raised, and Harry shrugs.

“I appreciate that, mate,” Louis says to Liam, patting him on his back. “Thank you.” And then he hugs Liam again and they kiss each other’s cheeks and Liam joins up with Elvia, looking a bit teary eyed.

Louis and Harry share a smile, something oddly bashful before taking each other’s hands and stepping close. And dancing for a while longer.

An hour or so later, everyone heads home. They offer Liam and Elvia a spare bed but Dylan is kind enough to drop them off at the train station. Harry returns from the foyer after promising several times to keep Liam updated on baby things and finds Louis in the kitchen, pouring the last dregs of a bottle of wine into two glasses.

“That was fun,” Harry says, accepting the other glass. He’d hop up onto the counter but doubts he has the coordination for it right now. He and Louis sit on the kitchen floor instead. “Dylan is great. I’m glad you invited him.”

“He‘s great, yeah,” Louis says. “Elvia is nice too. Quiet at first.”

“And then she had a glass of wine,” Harry says.

Louis chuckles, finishing off his glass. He rests his head back against the stove. “The duck was incredible.”

Harry tips his head forward in a slight bow. “Oh, thank you.” Belle trots into the kitchen and they grow quiet while Harry gives her a scratch and a pat on the head. He looks at Louis, finds him looking back. “Should we clean up?” Harry asks.

Louis shakes his head. “Not tonight. Come here.”

Harry crawls forward and Louis cups his jaw and draws him into a kiss, their mouths sort of colliding, crashing. Harry gets closer, his knees on either side of Louis’ thighs. He reaches for Louis’ shirt and pulls it off.

“I love you,” Harry says, running his fingers through Louis’ hair. He cradles Louis’ face in his palms.

“I love you too,” Louis says, peering up at him.

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Harry says. “Before everyone showed up.”

Louis sighs, resting his head back again. “Harry, I want to have a baby with you right now,” he says. “Maybe we are rushing and maybe that’s stupid but that’s what I want. Alright?”

“Alright,” Harry says, feeling drugged up all of a sudden, heavy-limbed like he wants to lay his head against Louis’ chest and never move. Or maybe that's just arousal. Sometimes he can't tell.

“It’s nice when it’s just us, but I spend a lot of that time thinking about us with kids,” Louis says. “And if we wait another year, that’s all I’d do. You’re scared. We’ve established that we’re both a little scared, yeah? But you’re not going to fuck this up. I love your mum, but you let her get into your head.”

“That’s what mothers do,” Harry says.

“But we’re alright, aren’t we? We can do this,” Louis says, meeting his gaze “Can’t we?”

Harry nods, bumping their foreheads together. “Yeah, we can. Should we fill out all those forms then?”

“Yeah, but not tonight,” Louis says again. “I want to fuck you tonight if that’s alright.”

Harry laughs. “I think that’s alright, yeah.”

For all their diplomacy, he takes over entirely once he’s seated on Louis’ cock. But riding Louis always makes him feel a little powerful and not as helpless as when Louis pushes his face into a pillow. He loves it either way. He loves it every way. But this is especially nice for different reasons. Louis tries to grasp his hips and Harry slaps his hands away. He tries again and Harry says, _firmly_ , ‘No.”

Then he presses Louis’ wrists into the pillows and Louis smiles, then whimpers, "Fuck."

“You don’t get to come until I come,” Harry says. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Louis says and Harry groans, loving how soft his voice is, how patient he sounds, like he’d let Harry ride him all night if necessary. Maybe he would. Harry slows the glide of his hips to a torturous, tantalizing pace. He holds Louis’ gaze as he moves, then throws his head back when it’s too much.

“So fucking good,” he says, breathlessly, meaning Louis’ cock and Louis’ thighs and Louis’ whole body glistening with sweat and Louis Louis Louis.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Louis breathes. He thrusts his hips up a bit, nailing Harry’s spot, and Harry nearly comes or cries or something. So much for patience.

“Stay still,” Harry says, tightening his hands on Louis’ wrists. “I always take it. You can take it this time.”

That’s not fair, obviously. Harry, being submissive, loves to take it. He loves to be told what to do, especially being told to hold out, to not come until Louis wants him to come. He knows _how_ to be submissive. And maybe it’s not fair to ask Louis to do the same because he’s not as practised.

Louis’ got his eyes closed, his hands balled up into fists. It’s like he’s meditating. And maybe it’s working until Harry speeds up, bouncing a bit wildly.

“Baby—” Louis chokes on the word.

“Louis—” Harry warns.

And then Louis comes. Harry knows immediately when he does because he’s not wearing a condom. He’s so shocked he loosens his grip on Louis’ wrists and Louis turns them over in a rush, snapping his hips forward a few times more.

“You cheated,” Harry breathes.

Louis laughs, moving down his body, cutting the rest of Harry’s protests off when he presses his tongue against his hole. “Taste so good,” he says, lifting Harry’s leg over his shoulder.

Harry’s eyes roll. He claws at their sheets. “Jesus fucking—”

“Who’s in charge again?” Louis asks.

“You,” Harry thinks he says.

Louis spanks him on the thigh as he pushes his tongue into him. Harry sees stars. Both physical stars exploding on his ceiling and David Bowie singing Starman whilst riding on a cloud. And Louis’ tongue and Louis’ mouth are the highest quality of drug, he determines right then. Because he’s never felt this high. Louis always fucks him until his brain feels like soup and whenever the sex is especially good, Harry thinks, it couldn’t get any better. And then it does.

Louis turns him over and now there’s friction on Harry’s cock and Louis’ tongue inside him and he gets another spank right on his arse and he comes so hard he thinks he might die. His body puts so much effort into his orgasm, all the other senses white out.

When he comes to, Louis is kissing his shoulder, then his neck, and his cheek. And Harry somehow manages to kiss Louis back when their mouths meet.

“You’re fucking insane,” Louis says.

Harry huffs a laugh. “You’re one to talk. You came like that was your first sexual experience.”

“Oh, shut up,” Louis says, biting on his earlobe. “Come take a shower with me. We smell.”

“I can’t feel my legs, actually.”

Louis laughs and they stay there, all curled together until Harry can feel his legs (or a few toes, at least) and then he showers with him. And they climb into bed, and Louis gives him a head rub while they catch the tail- end of Pretty Woman on T.V. And somewhere in the middle of reciting Richard Gere’s epic confession of love and kissing lazily and randomly, Harry falls asleep.

A week later, sitting in their new hot tub, they decide to name their baby Luna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i should work on my WIP now...or just something else. something that's not wonderlands related! this one was SO much fun, though. for obvious reasons. a little angst! some drama. SMUT! fun times all around.


	3. May 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe one day i'll manage to write one of these without smut lol.
> 
> this one is written from louis' POV! yay!

**MAY 2018**

Louis sort of feels like he could run a flower shop himself, given all the acumen he’s gained from Harry over the past few months.

He knows what temperature the shop has to maintain at all times. He knows the morning and nighttime routines, knows how to properly cut the stems and that contrary to popular belief, flowers do _not_ like being dunked in cold water. Lukewarm is typically best. He’s tempted sometimes to put an apron on and help out, but that wouldn’t be very discreet. He’s never around during operating hours for the same reason.

He knows that the period between April and August is one of the busiest for the shop with an increase of weddings and showers and graduations. Harry works longer hours and has less time to see him. Summer is busy for them both, actually. The Wonderlands have a tour starting in another month. One of Louis’ newer artists is finishing up an album. He’s got promotional appearances coming up in June, etc. etc.

Despite the bustle of the shop, he looks forward to any time he can get there with Harry. At the flower shop or in his home. The latter is just as nice.

He thinks, for example, about the first time Harry wandered into his office just because. He'd curled up in the armchair by the window and Louis had an urge to pinch himself. He watched Harry from his desk as he put his feet up on the coffee table and sipped from a mug and thumbed away at his phone, all without saying a word. As if it were a normal occurrence.

Louis typically doesn’t work when Harry’s around or awake. The last three times he’d caught Louis in his office, it was right after he’d gotten out of bed. One time he entered, it was to urge him to the kitchen for breakfast. The other two times, to initiate sex — (Harry might have an office kink he doesn’t talk about).

This time though, Harry hadn’t wanted a thing. He wasn’t trying to distract him. He wasn’t complaining about him working too hard. He simply wanted to share his space, to be around him.

“Did you hear Britney Spears has a new song out?” Harry murmured, glancing at him, and Louis glanced away, pretending to be engrossed in his laptop.

“Yeah?”

“It was recorded in 2005, I think. It’s called Take Off,” Harry said. “Have you got earphones over there?”

“Just play it out loud,” Louis said.

So Harry did, and they talked about it for a bit, agreed they liked it, and then they went back to their comfortable silence.

Those are the moments Louis looks forward too, simple as they are. Whenever and wherever Harry is around, Louis feels happiest. Thoughts like that, he keeps to himself, though, always a little wary of revealing just how much he likes Harry (read: loves). Especially when Harry can be so bloody nonchalant about it all.

He’s sitting in his car after work, knowing he should head home because he’s tired but also very much not wanting to head home. He can’t resist fishing his phone out of his pocket, shooting off a text to ‘H’ with a heart emoji beside it.

**Free tonight?**

He feels bad because Harry is technically always free, but he’s also always tired and should probably take the time to just sleep. And knowing them they’ll probably not do much sleeping.

**_Just heading back from dinner with my sister. I’ll be home in an hour._ **

**Want me to stop by?**

**_Always_ **

Louis smiles and tosses his phone into the passenger seat. It’ll take him a little over an hour to get to Harry. He turns the volume up on the radio, lowers his front windows and starts off.

Harry is dressed in a white T-shirt and loose blue jeans when Louis arrives at the shop entrance. He pushes the front door open, lets him in, and locks the door back. “Hi,” he says, smiling.

Louis looks at him. “You look exhausted.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a laugh. “You look great too.”

“Meant that in the nicest way possible.”

Harry shakes his head, shuffling past him. “Come on. I’ve got the kettle on.”

Louis feels genuinely concerned, though he knows Harry has survived summers working the shop before. But that was when his daughter wasn’t in a band, preparing for a solo tour, or when he wasn’t maintaining a secret relationship with Louis. What Harry doesn’t know yet is that Louis has plans to spend the weekend in New York with him. And hopefully, some brief time away will help.

Louis follows him up the steps to the flat, kicking off his shoes at the door. Belle rushes towards him and he ducks down, giving her a scratch below the ears. He follows Harry into the kitchen, where he’s got two mugs waiting with tea bags. Harry leans against the counter, his arms folded.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Long. Nothing interesting happened,” Louis says. “How’d the order for that bridal shower go?”

“Just barely finished it,” Harry says, looking pleased. “I almost had to cancel dinner with Gemma. And I’ve cancelled twice already.”

“And how was dinner?”

“Good,” Harry says, his gaze drifting away. “Um. Gemma suggested we all get dinner sometime. The three of us. Told her it probably wasn’t a good idea.”

Louis’ brows wrinkle. “Why not?”

“Just thought maybe you wouldn’t want to.”

“Well, you were wrong," Louis says, flicking a crumb at him. "I’d love to. I like your sister.”

Harry smiles, all dimples. “You might get interrogated. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

“I’m not worried.”

Harry shakes his head. “You do know how to woo a man, Tomlinson.”

“Just you, Styles.”

The kettle starts whistling which Harry seems grateful for, given how quickly he turns towards it. Not fast enough to hide the blush, though. He fixes two cups of tea and hands one to Louis and they reconvene on the couch with a box of biscuits, sort of watching something and sipping their tea until it’s cool enough to drink more quickly. Harry finishes and rests his head against the back of the couch, looking drowsy.

“Hey,” Louis says. Harry turns to his head and Louis kisses him. “Hadn’t done that yet."

Harry smiles and kisses him this time, cupping Louis’ jaw. He moans very quietly as Louis kisses his neck, leaving a mark that a curly lock of hair will hopefully conceal. He parts his lips when Louis kisses him on the mouth, moaning again when their tongues meet. Louis’ hand wanders beneath Harry’s T-shirt, shoving it up over his ribs, his thumb brushing his nipple.

“I’m really sleepy,” Harry says when they break for air.

“I know,” Louis says, although he’s embarrassingly, obviously horny all of sudden. He tucks his head against Harry’s shoulder, drawing a breath. “It’s alright.”

“Rain check?” Harry asks.

Louis huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”

They don’t have sex every time they see each other, obviously. But they also tend to be on the same page. Like if Harry wants to have sex, Louis does too, and vice versa. And when they’re not feeling like it, it’s because they just did it the previous day or they’ve both had bad days or they fall asleep before they think to. But Louis is hardly ever this aroused when Harry isn’t.

They head to bed, the two of them stripping down to their pants. Harry puts his back to him, pulling Louis’ arm across his waist. He folds their fingers together, presses a kiss to his hand, and snuggles as close as possible.

Louis doesn’t know what’s the matter with him. He feels like a teenager. Erect from a cuddle. And he knows that Harry knows.

“Might nip into the loo,” he says.

Harry laughs. “To have a wank?”

“Possibly.”

Harry laughs again and turns onto his back. “Just do it here. Might help if I watch.”

“It might,” Louis says, his eyes trailing Harry’s smiling mouth and his drowsy eyes and crumpled hair. He’s gorgeous. Definitely the most beautiful person Louis’ ever dated, and he thinks about that a lot. How lucky he is, for several reasons. The way Harry looks and the way he laughs and the way he smells and tastes and teases.

Louis turns onto his back, feeling slightly self-conscious. The feeling slips away though once he’s pushed the waistband of his briefs beneath his balls and wrapped a hand around himself. He feels powerful then, like he always does when he has Harry’s attention on him. And he can feel his gaze travelling down his body. He starts to stroke himself, his fist tight, and doesn’t look at Harry because otherwise he’ll want to touch him.

He hears him move and glances at him then, sees him rummaging in the bedside drawer. Harry turns back with lube, pops the cap open, and pours it right on Louis’ dick. “There,” he says.

“Oh, thanks,” Louis says, laughing.

“No problem, baby.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry’s voice does it for him too. It’s deep, a little raspy, and unbelievably slow. And now Louis has to look at him, at his mouth. Harry licks his lips right then. Their eyes meet, Harry’s gaze hungry, his eyes a little wide.

“This is really fucking hot,” Harry says.

Louis laughs again, this one breathless. Harry runs his hand across Louis’ chest, his fingernail catching on his nipple. Louis groans, shutting his eyes. He feels Harry’s mouth against his neck and his jaw, his teeth nibbling his earlobe.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, so ridiculously, embarrassingly close. He’s lasted longer fucking Harry. He’s got no clue why this is more unbearable.

“Are you close?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says.

“Want to come in my mouth?”

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis groans. “Yes.”

Harry pushes the duvet off his body and readjusts himself between Louis’ legs. He looks at him and parts his lips, which is really all it takes to finish Louis off. He comes and Harry closes his eyes, keeping his mouth open until he’s finished. Harry wipes his bottom lip and chin with his thumb and sucks his thumb clean, and then reaches for Louis’ waistband, tucking him away neatly.

He crawls back up the mattress and collapses beside Louis.

“I say we do that again sometime,” he says.

Louis laughs, still trying to catch his breath. “I’d be up for that.” He turns over, facing Harry again. “Want to sleep now?”

Harry stares at him. “Not entirely sure I can anymore.”

“Sorry about that,” Louis says. He’d feel worse about it except Harry looks sleepy still, not too much harm done.

“Should have let you go to the loo,” Harry says, running his fingers over Louis’ sweaty neck. He studies him. “How are you even real?”

“Asking myself the same thing about you,” Louis says. “I'll make it up to you in the morning.”

Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Sounds good,” he says and turns over again, assuming little spoon position. He falls asleep within six minutes, Louis not far behind him.

In the morning, Harry wakes around six a.m., but only to text Troye that he can’t get out of bed and they’re opening at eleven today. Louis sends an email to Frances, letting her know he’ll be in at the same time. And then they go back to sleep.

“Hey,” Louis says around 8 am, giving Harry a gentle shake. When he hums, Louis asks, “Are you hungry?”

“I forgot to buy eggs," Harry whispers. "All I’ve got is bread.”

Louis isn’t in the mood for toast. He’s starving.

“I'll run out and grab something.”

“What if someone sees you?” Harry mumbles.

“They won’t,” Louis says, crawling out of bed. “Where are your keys?”

“Counter,” he thinks Harry says, which is where he finds the keys a minute later. He pulls on a baseball cap and walks to the deli just down the street. The key to not being recognized is to keep his head down, really. It doesn’t always work, of course. But it does this time. He gets them egg sandwiches and two coffees and hurries back.

Harry is up by then, wearing a T-shirt and pants, hunched over the stove with a blanket around his body. There’s a jar of instant coffee sitting on the countertop. But when he smells coffee, he looks at Louis, relief flooding his face.

“What would I do without you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, accepting a kiss. They take their time eating because they’ve got an hour to spare. Harry takes a shower and Louis gives him a quick blowie with he dries off to make up for last night.

Louis pauses as he’s pulling on his shoes. “Shit. Almost forgot,” he says, fishing into his back pocket. “Your keys.”

“Keep them.”

Louis freezes.

This is what he means, see. About the nonchalance. Harry is skittish at the best of times when it comes to love. And Louis does love him. He’s known for months now that if Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, that’d be more than alright. But he’s quite frankly terrified to throw the word out there because big signs of devotion on Louis’ part are sure to scare him off.

And yet, Harry does things like this.

Things that Louis can’t help but read into. Things that scream ‘i love you’ in spite of how Harry seems to fight the sentiment.

The keys feel like they’re burning a hole in Louis’ pocket.

Harry glances at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Summer will be really busy, so— I think maybe— It might help if you’re able to come and go when you want. I don’t know.”

So maybe not so nonchalant after all. The disjointed sentences betray him. He’s nervous, clearly. And maybe he knows what this will mean to Louis. And maybe he’s okay with that.

Louis swallows the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. I’ll get a spare made for you too.”

Harry nods, his lips twitching. “Alright.”

They stare at each other for a second. “I’ve got to go,” Louis says.

“Me too,” Harry says, wearing his green apron already. He looks well-rested now, skin dewy, hair shiny and tied up. He smiles. Louis loves him. He draws him close and kisses him until Harry’s cheeks are blotchy. “Go or you’ll run into Troye,” he says.

Louis doesn’t want that. The kid is nice enough, but shameless. “See you soon,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and then a loaded smile, “Just let yourself in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm GENUINELY going to work on my wips now. (after i finish a paper due for class...)


	4. August 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i debated posting this one now bc it's bittersweet. but perhaps it'll be a somber way of signing off 2017.
> 
> written from Andy's POV, yay!

**AUGUST 2019**

Andy wakes in Morrissey’s bed. Not _the_ Morrissey, but a drummer from an indie band who likes to be referred to that way. His real name is Malcolm.

In the frail glow of morning light, he’s less attractive than he’d been hours earlier, but that’s always the case with him. Andy only ever feels attracted to him after she’s had a drink or two. He played a few songs on her guitar last night, which was the first time she realised he knew how to play. And what's she supposed to do? She's got a thing for guitarists.

She peeks beneath the covers, sees that she’s not naked, and exhales a sigh of relief.

Shuffling out of bed, she finds her car keys in her bag, pushes her feet back into her Chucks, and grabs her guitar case. She texts Frank, who’s already texted her to say he’s in the lobby.

**Be down in five.**

“Hey.”

Andy looks towards the bedroom and sees that Morrissey is awake and shirtless, leaned against the wall. “Hey. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Andy hesitates. “We didn’t…?”

“Nah. I think that was the idea, but you were way too drunk. Although if you ever--”

“No,” she says quickly, and then repeats it more gently. “I really like you. You’ve been a great friend to me, especially when I don't know many people in LA. I just always manage to make a muck of friendships when I get involved more than I should. So we’re probably better off just…”

It’s an excuse, obviously. She does ruin friendships when she gets romantically involved. The unbecoming of her erstwhile four-person band is proof of that. But she’s also just not interested in Morrissey and if she was a stronger person, she’d say so outright. Even Harry, her dad, who’s made a mess of a few relationships himself, would’ve done as much.

Nonetheless, Morrissey smiles. “No worries, Andy. We’re good.”

She smiles, tucking her phone into her back pocket.

“Did you know Rose was at the party last night?”

Andy freezes. Speak of the devil and she’ll appear, right? She pretty sure that’s how the saying goes. She feels those tequila shots from last night all of sudden, turning her stomach inside out. She thinks she plays it off, though maybe not with how Morrissey cringes.

“Just thought you’d want to know,” he says. “Your bandmates seemed pretty pissed. I think that’s why they left so early. But you seemed fine, so— I figured you didn’t know. I thought you should.”

“Yeah, I appreciate that. Things are still a bit tense, you know?” Andy says, contrary to the Daily Mail. The band’s fabled reconciliations are just that. In the last week, there’ve been a handful of articles reporting that Rose attempted to make peace, although she hasn’t at all. (Literally, “Peace In Wonderland” was the Daily Mail’s choice title).

“I think the girls were headed to another party, though,” she adds, because she can’t trust Morrissey with the whole truth.

Morrissey doesn’t say anything to that. No one can say she didn’t try.

“See you,” Andy says, and leaves.

She’s stepping onto the lift by the time she remembers herself, but it’s too late by then. A woman stands on the opposite side of the car, tapping away at her phone. She slows after a cursory glance at Andy, and glances at her again.

It’s too late, but Andy pulls her baseball cap on over her curly hair anyhow, running a hand down the back.

“Hey,” the woman says, and Andy draws a breath, “You look famous.”

Andy has to look at her. Avoiding her gaze would rouse further suspicion. She huffs a laugh. “I wish.” She pushes her hands into her pockets, hunches her shoulders. She’ll have to leave it at that or the woman would detect her accent.

The lift dings and Andy steps off. She hears the woman gasp an ‘oh my god’ a second later. The guitar strapped to Andy’s back rang a bell.

It’s much worse in London. If she’d been home, the woman might’ve recognized her immediately. Here, in LA, sometimes it takes people a second to place her. She dresses in her baggy jeans and plain T-shirts and tries never, ever to forget the baseball cap. And she can typically fly under the radar.

Perhaps Frank also gives her away. Even dressed in plain clothes, he looks the way a bodyguard typically would. All beefy and inhospitable, though he’s actually quite nice. The instant Andy steps off the lift, he appears mystically, creating a human shield between Andy and the woman. She always feels oddly guilty when Frank does that: treating fans or strangers like contaminants. Like she has to be sectioned off from them, though sometimes it’s true.

She sends a little wave over her shoulder at the woman, as Frank directs her to the car park. There’s a black Suburban waiting there.

Andy climbs into the car and they leave the hotel behind.

“Could we stop at Starbucks?” she asks the driver, Charlie, who she only just met last night. He’s Italian and sings when the partition is up but Andy can still sometimes hear him. He’s got a nice voice. Louis would probably cut him a deal if he were younger.

Andy buys them all Frappuccinos. She gets a bagel for Frank and a croissant with (extra) butter for Charlie. She returns to the condo with Frank in tow. The other girls and their security detail are nowhere to be seen. Frank parks himself in the living room with his bagel.

It’s well after noon or something in London, which means it’s as good a time as any to ring home. (And she’s feeling a little lonely.)

She dials Harry’s number as she heads into her room.

The line clicks on — “She’s alive!”

Andy pushes the door closed, sinks against it. “Hi, Dad.”

“I rang you last night,” Harry says. “What happened?”

She honestly can’t even remember. “There was a party after the show.”

“You went by yourself?”

“No, Frank was with me. The girls were there too for a bit.”

“Was it fun?”

Andy resists scoffing. “A blast.”

“I caught some of your show on Instagram. Someone was live-streaming it.”

Andy smiles. She secretly adores her father’s newfound proficiency in social media. These days, he uses his accounts to connect with family and friends, but she never forgets that he started it all for her. He wanted to keep up with her career, even when they were miles apart, and he managed to do it with enough finesse to earn himself a million followers and counting.

It’s always a source of pride that her dad is the putative band parent. He does the social media thing best, all without being overbearing like the others. Kendra’s father micromanages. And Mercy’s mother cries a lot, posts vague statuses about ‘Remembering your roots’ and makes her feel guilty about never visiting or ringing home.

Harry is the cool dad for a whole slew of reasons.

“Did you see we covered Fleetwood Mac?” Andy asks.

“I did!” he says emphatically. “I need to see a proper video of it though.”

“I’ll send you one,” Andy says. “How’s Louis?”

“He’s good. He’s here now, attempting—” He says something to Louis and then returns to the line. “Curried chicken salad. For lunch. I would’ve settled for a normal salad.”

“Sounds fancy, though,” Andy says, genuinely impressed and hungry and homesick.

“It smells really good,” her dad says.

“How’s Emily?” Andy asks.

“Oh, she’s great. I went with her to get another sonogram done and we had lunch with Lou. Things are coming along really well.”

”That’s great,” Andy says, and it is. She’s excited for another baby in the house. Lord knows how long she’s wanted siblings. A sister, especially.

“So, you’re doing alright then?” her dad asks.

“I’m good, yeah,” she says, exhaling. She picks at her cuticle for a second. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says. “You sound sad.”

Maybe she is sad. She’s thinking about Rose and about the fact that she feels closer these days to Frank and their driver du jour than she does to her remaining bandmates. She hasn’t been home in 48 days and she thinks about that a lot too. And that’s probably the safest thing to say right now, the latter.

Andy stands and crosses over to the bed. “I’m just ready to come home.” She presses a button on the panel against the wall and lowers the blackout shades, plunging herself into darkness.

“You’ve got one week left, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Play hard. Buzz on and all that.”

She falls onto her bed. “Will do, H.”

He laughs. She misses his laugh. “Bye, love.”

“Bye, Dad,” she says, climbing under the duvet.

One week left is why she’s miserable. Up until now, she’s had a blast abroad. But it’s as things are wrapping up that she feels most exhausted and most lonely. There’s just one week left, though, and she’s made it through worse for much longer.

†

Andy chases Pepper past Louis’ office door and hears him call out, ‘Hey’. She doubles back, allowing the cat to escape her for now. Louis sits at his desk, glasses on.

“You're home,” he says happily.

Andy hovers by the door. “I’m home,” she says with just as much cheer, although it’s still weird referring to Louis’ house that way. She has a bedroom here and the flat in Northampton has new tenants she doesn’t know. But she also hasn’t had time to sink her roots in here. Even last Christmas was spent elsewhere — at her own flat in London or at her grandparents’ or at her Aunt Gemma’s.

“Come in,” he says, waving her forward, dropping his pen on his desk.

“Are you sure? Dad told me he never leaves you alone when you’re in here.”

“He doesn’t,” Louis says. “And I’d never tell him this, but I don’t actually mind.”

Andy strolls inside and plops down in the arm chair by the window. “I think he knows. He’s very much like a cat in that way. Cats are annoying because they know they’ll be tolerated and adored.”

Louis looks stupefied. “Jesus, you’re right.”

Andy holds her hands out as if to say, ‘Of course’.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” she asks, the disillusionment setting in. She’s in her producer’s office. Granted, his home office. Also granted, he’s her stepfather. But still—

“No, of course not,” Louis says, snorting. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. How the US was.”

“Oh, it was fine. Started to drag on a bit towards the end. Not that I’m not grateful, but you know…”

“Yeah, I know,” he says and she believes him. He did the world tour thing once upon a time as well. “I wanted to talk to you about something—  Don’t look so terrified, Andy. You’re seriously not in trouble.”

She sits up a bit straighter anyhow. “Alright.” Beau strolls noisily into the office. Andy pats her lap until he approaches her, hopping into her lap. She cuddles him, looks at Louis again, her brows lifted.

He sighs, removing his glasses, which isn’t a good sign, is it? “I had a meeting with Rose recently.”

Andy drops her gaze, pushing her face into Beau’s fur. She’s beyond tired of hearing her name. For months, she hardly heard of Rose at all. And suddenly within three weeks, she’s cropped up all over. In LA and London and on all the social media platforms and magazines. It doesn’t make sense. She’d ask Louis about it, except she’s worried she’s being paranoid and adamantly doesn’t want to talk about her. Now she doesn’t seem to have a choice.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Louis says, as if he were reading her mind. “But I thought you should know I agreed to work with her again.”

Andy looks at him. He looks at her. “Alright,” she says. Probably not the answer he was expecting.

“We have an outstanding contract to fulfill,” Louis says. “She didn’t make the best decisions before, but I don’t think that should mean the end of her career.”

Andy nods. “That’s fair.”

“You won’t have to see her.”

“I can handle seeing her,” Andy says, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“I'm not saying you couldn’t.”

It’s a bit tense then.

Harry used to tell Andy to manage her expectations, but she doesn’t always listen to Harry. Up until now, she hadn’t realized how thoroughly she imagined Louis in her corner. Like marrying her dad automatically made their interests one in the same, stitched together with a thread of loyalty. But their marriage didn’t mean Louis was no longer a businessman. Being her stepdad didn’t mean Louis would sacrifice a client for her. There’s still a silly, childish part of her that expected as much.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Andy says, standing. “Might take him for a walk now.”

“I think your dad did an hour ago.”

“Might just take a walk myself then,” she says, and smiles before leaving.

†

They totally talked about her, Louis and Harry.

Hours after dinner, her dad waylays her at the hot tub. He has that puppy dog look on his face, which is kind of how he looks all the time. When he’s not goofily happy, he’s got an eternally curious, observant, puppy look that she can’t describe any more concisely than that.

He sticks his hand into the water, checking the temperature.

“Are you coming in?” Andy asks.

“Maybe in a bit,” Harry says. He smiles, but there’s something tense about it.

“Louis talked to you, didn’t he?”

Harry shrugs. “He’s just worried you didn’t take the Rose thing well,” he blurts. “He’s scarily perspective. You can’t get much by him. Reminds me of you.”

Andy pushes a damp lock of her away from her eyes. “I wish everyone would stop babying me about the Rose thing. She’s an arsehole, yeah. But the world is full of arseholes and you get over it.”

“Not ones who break your heart,” Harry says. “Eventually, yes. But it takes a while.”

Andy sighs heavily. “Please just tell Louis I’m fine. Please?”

“You should tell him yourself,” Harry says. “Tell him he’s got nothing to worry about.” And then there’s a different look on her dad’s face. Less curious and more confident. “Unless, of course, you’re not actually fine. And you feel weird saying that to him because he’s still your producer.”

Andy rests her head back against the hot tub and shuts her eyes. If she looks at him, he’ll know he hit the jackpot. He probably already knows. She peeks at him a second later and sees him wriggling out of his joggers. Harry sinks into the hot tub in his pants. He ties his hair up into a bun, exhales a contented breath and retrieves his wine from the edge of the tub.

She sets her defensiveness aside for a second. This is the life her dad deserves, chilling in his hot tub with a glass of Cabernet, at home with people who love him. Harry peeks at her and smiles when he sees her smiling. He pokes her with his foot and she scowls.

“I don’t want to see her,” Andy says. “And I know that’s selfish of me but I wish Louis didn’t work with her. I let the whole stepdad thing get to my dad. Obviously he doesn’t owe me that.”

Harry has a sip of his wine, which she knows is his way of giving himself a chance to think. “I like that you let the stepdad thing get to your head. That’s nice,” he says. “I think it’s getting to his head too, actually. I think he wants to put you first, but within reason. He can’t always do that in the position he’s in, but he’ll always try.”

Andy looks away. If she had it her way, no one in the industry would work with Rose. At least not until she apologised. Or showed remorse. For what she did to Andy and to their band. For what she did to her dad and Louis. She believes people can change, but Rose may be the exception to the rule. And Andy wouldn’t want her anywhere near them again, Louis included. But she can’t always have her way. And Louis can’t either, can he?

“He loves you,” Harry says. “He loves me, so he loves you.”

“What’s there not to love about me?”

“Your sarcasm, for one.” He smiles sweetly. She flicks water at him. He returns fire, holding a hand up to shield himself and his wine glass.

“I have to use the loo,” Andy says. “I’ll be back.”

Harry holds his glass out to her, silently requesting a refill. Andy begrudgingly takes it and heads inside. She pulls on a robe and fuzzy slippers and heads to the kitchen, refills the wine and leaves it there to pick up on her way back to the hot tub. She doesn’t actually need the loo. She heads to Louis’ office where he’s peering at his computer screen, working way too hard as usual.

“You’re not done for the day?” Andy asks.

Louis glances up, then squeezes his eyelids. “I’ve got some people who just woke up in Beijing to a little crisis. Think it’s been averted now.”

“Good. Now you can come have wine with me and my dad,” Andy says. “We’re in the hot tub.”

“I’ll probably take you both up on that,” Louis says. “Maybe after I make a call.”

“Alright,” Andy says, turning away. She turns back. “Thanks again for telling me about Rose earlier. I know— I realise how weird it must be for you, being caught in the middle. Not that you’d have any trouble dealing with it, of course. But I think given the circumstances, you’ve done a really great job, making sure we’re all taken care of.”

Louis looks _shocked_ , which Andy kind of resents. She can be a pain in the arse sometimes, but she’s generally quite nice. She’ll make breakfast for him and her dad in the morning. Should redeem her, she reckons. Louis runs a hand through his short dark hair, his head ducked. He sweeps his fringe to the side. “It means a lot to hear you say that,” he says, lifting his gaze. “Thank you.”

When he smiles, it’s soft, tender and vulnerable in a way she’s not used to, in a way Louis probably isn’t with people outside of his home or his family. Her dad might be right, which she’d admit only under duress. She does feel loved in that moment.

And he is in her corner, Louis Tomlinson, which is a remarkable thing for any person to be able to say.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Andy says, earnestly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Louis nods once. “Okay.”

“I’ll pour you a glass of wine,” Andy says, and leaves him to his phone call.

†

An article drops the following week. One that Andy is expecting (because Louis told her to expect it) but that pisses her off anyhow. Rose was always suited for pop punk. She has a hardcore edge about her that Andy had once fooled herself into thinking she simply _admired_. It makes sense for her to join in the plight to reignite the era of pop punk. And Nøbility has a nice ring to it in terms of band names. And the boy Louis paired her with named Casper looks good stood beside Rose. Andy stares at the picture in The Rolling Stone for a long time so she’d know.

She wishes that Cassie had bestowed her with something in place of her notorious temper. She could have done with her mum’s cup size or her magical lyricism or her swagger even. But instead, she got the rage, and she doesn’t know what to do with it as she sits in the studio. Kendra is tapping away at her drums, humming a tune. Mercy is painting her toenails.

“There’s a party tonight at DJ Lo’s,” Mercy begins. “God fucking damn it—” She inspects her toenail, swears again, and snatches the nail varnish up. “Do you guys want to go?”

“Should we clear it with Samantha?” Kendra asks, sliding her headphones off. Samantha is their interim PR person while the former lady is on maternity leave.

“Nah,” Mercy says. “We don’t have to clear everything Samantha. We’ll be on our best behaviour.”

Kendra laughs. “Right. I’m in.”

“Andy,” Mercy says, wiggling her toes at her. “You in?”

Andy kind of feels like she has to. Like if people see she’s not in attendance, rumours will spring up about how she’s plotting to leave the band. It wouldn’t be the first time. She feels like she’d be saying no to some sort of bonding experience, and she worries sometimes that the girls think she hates them. It’s not the case at all. She loves her band. She loves how they stick together and how they’ve kept going in spite of Rose’s exit.

But she really would rather go home. Her dad was planning to make burgers.

“Yeah,” Andy says. “I’ll go for a bit.”

Later, she fully regrets her decision, but she knew she would. Mercy and Kendra aren’t in the best mood on the way to the club. They finally caught wind of the article. And now they’re drunk in their little booth, laughing in the face of groupies they’ve invited to sit with them.

Andy stands and Frank zeroes in on her. “Toilet,” she tells him.

He comes with her anyway, which she appreciates, and waits outside. Andy slips into a cubicle and pulls a cigarette out of her pocket, along with a matchbook from a bar they went to recently. Her dad would lecture her, but she doesn't smoke religiously. Only when she's stressed. Only when she's trying to keep it together. She lights up and leans against the metal wall and extracts her mobile, shooting off a text to Gemma, scrolling through Twitter.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Someone’s in here,” she says, her brows creasing. There are five other empty cubicles to choose from.

“Andy.”

She doesn’t say a word. She's afraid if she opens her mouth, she'll vomit instead. Or worse, sob.

“I know you’re in there. I saw Frank waiting outside.”

Fuck this. Andy yanks the metal door open and there’s Rose, red-lipsticked mouth curling into a smile. Her hair is shorter but still blond and glowing in the neon green accent lights. She’s wearing the perfume Andy always liked. Black Opium, which Andy purchased a little tube of after they slept together the first time. Andy feels sick. She pushes past her and towards the sink, stubbing the cigarette out on the porcelain.

“Could we talk?” Rose asks.

Andy runs water over hands quickly and doesn’t bother drying them. She turns towards the door. Rose slides into the space in front of her.

“I just want to talk,” she says. “I have a lot to say. I've tried texting you but you blocked my number, I guess. I've tried emailing you—”

The door opens and a girl steps inside, staring at them with obvious recognition. This is totally ending up on Twitter. Andy isn’t thinking about that though. Why would Rose try to contact her?

“Please?” Rose says, her voice quiet now. Andy can hardly hear her over the music still thumping outside. It forces Rose to step close and now the smell of her perfume is everywhere. “I owe you an apology.”

Andy pulls back. She has to fucking talk. If she leaves this whole encounter without saying a word, she’ll look and feel like an idiot. She has to talk. “You do,” she says.

Rose’s lips quirk again. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

Andy doesn’t respond to that, but Rose turns and starts through the door. She knows Andy’ll follow her, because Andy always did.

“You didn’t recognize me, Frank,” Rose says in the hall. She runs a hand through her hair, glancing at Andy. “I got a cut.”

It looks nice, Andy almost says.

“We’re going to have a drink,” Andy tells Frank. And he looks like he wants to say something, but waves her on. Andy keeps her head down as she follows Rose to another booth on the opposite end of the club from where the other girls are sitting. Rose orders them two drinks. Vodka sodas with lemon because it’s Andy’s drink of choice.

They’re quiet for a while until Andy can’t take it anymore. “Are you going to talk or stare at me?”

“You look good. I can’t help it,” Rose says.

Andy looks at her. “You’re not actually flirting with me, are you?”

“I can’t help that either.”

“You said something about an apology,” Andy says, and now maybe she’s grateful for her mother’s temper. She feels it now and lets it fuel her and shield her.

“I did,” Rose says. She twirls her straw around her drink. “I fucked things up, didn’t I?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I had no idea what I was doing,” Rose says. “I never really had a clue. And it’s only after I fired my sister that I realised how clueless I actually was. And still am, sometimes. I had a pretty sweet deal with you girls. We had a really nice thing going. We made great music.”

It’s not until she starts talking, starts apologising, that Andy realises. She doesn’t actually care that Rose left the band. Well, she does. That sucked without a doubt. But that’s not what she wants an apology for. _Craves_ an apology for.

“I thought I was cut out to be the lead singer. I thought I was essential to the band. I even thought things would fall apart without me. That was wrong, but I was angry and confused and clueless,” Rose says, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry about your dad too. About the things my sister said or the things I said. He seems like a great person. And he and Louis make a nice couple.”

She sounds like she’s been seeing a therapist. Like she was walked step-by-step through all the wrongs she had to make right. Like this is just one stop on the road to recovery from being an arsehole. But she’s forgetting something. Maybe it was never important enough for her to discuss with a therapist. Maybe she never thought twice about it. Andy feels her eyes burning. She balls her fists up in her lap.

“I just hope you can forgive me,” Rose says, leaning close, trying to meet Andy’s gaze. “I’d like it if we…”

“Don’t you dare fucking suggest that we be friends,” Andy says, glaring at her. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She stands, breathing heavily.

Rose stares at her. “What the fuck—”

“You broke my heart,” Andy says, _seethes_. She’d scream it too, if she didn’t think that’d draw unwanted attention. And somehow, there’s sanity left in her to remember all the people in the club. They’re far away but not far enough.

Rose lowers her gaze, realising a little breath. “We fooled around like four times, Andy,” she says. “I can’t believe you told Louis about that, by the way. It was never meant to be this big thing. I never meant to hurt you. I mean, we weren’t _dating_. And I slept with other people. I thought you did too.”

Andy stares at her, biting her lip hard. She’s not going to cry. She refuses to cry. “You’re awful,” she says, matter-of-factly. “I almost thought I loved you. Thank God you left the band before that could happen.”

“Jesus, Andy—”

“I know you didn’t care about me,” Andy says. “I get that now. But I cared about you.” Still does, if she's honest.

Rose stares at her drink, still toying with the straw. “I never said I didn’t care.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Andy shrugs. “I’m truly happy you found a new band and I hope things work out for you. I really do.”

Rose’s bottom lip trembles and she lifts her drink for a long sip. “Alright then, Andy,” she says, finally looking at her again. There’s something in her gaze Andy can’t deal with now. Or ever. “Good luck to you too.”

Andy leaves after that because she can't think of anything else to say. She hears a few cameras snap as she heads back through the club. Outside there are paps waiting, their flashes bursting as Frank leads her to a car. Her dad is thankfully alone when she gets home, sitting in the living room, looking half-asleep as a film plays on the telly. As much as she loves spending time with Louis, she needs Harry alone right now.

She sinks into the couch, pushing off her shoes.

“How was the party?” he asks.

She shuffles close, feeling her control give and snap and fall apart. She tucks her head against Harry’s collarbone and cries.

“Andy,” he says, his voice laden with concern. He hugs her, running his fingers through her hair. “It’s alright.”

He doesn’t ask questions. He never does when she’s like this, and she’s been this way plenty.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m here.”

It works every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's weird about writing from Andy's POV is referring to Harry as Harry. i think that worked best here, even if it's probably not the correct way to do it.
> 
> i think what stops this from feeling too sad for me is the fact that Andy is still so young. she has time to figure herself out, to get her heart broken and to cry about it and write some songs about it. (And the same is true for Rose.) In writing this, I'm just trying to stay faithful to the story of redemption and growth and education that permeates the wonderlands. you're never too young or too old to get it right or wrong. we're all human and what matters is that we try to be good ones!
> 
> have a happy new year! ily xx


	5. September 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know exactly what this is. Aside from bits and pieces of things jammed together. Hopefully it's somewhat cohesive. And serves as a nice end to these timestamps (and the series, I guess).
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! & much love x

**SEPTEMBER 2021**

Louis sends him a screenshot of an article long after he's left for the studio, along with his own personal caption: 'We made it babe.' It's from the Huffington Post.  2021 Top 10 Power Couples, it's titled. Harry laughs about it, quietly so he doesn't wake Luna sprawled on the bed beside him.

But it's not the first time the term's been ascribed to them, and in every other case, Harry shies away from it.

“Power couple" signifies some zenith that he hasn't reached with Louis.

(He doesn’t think any couple ever reaches it.)

He worries half the time he’s ambling through his marriage with two left feet. Sometimes he’s still surprised that Louis wants to spend indefinite amounts of time with him. Still amazed that — after they’ve annoyed each other and Louis rolls his eyes at him and walks away — he comes back every time.

He’s going to be with this one person until he dies. There’s nothing he wants more. There’s nothing more real or factual than that. It’s just the other side of it that sometimes strikes him like the tail end of a fairytale -- that Louis feels all that wild, bottomless love too.

And yet there are people on Twitter who think of them as the polestar of relationships. Hashtag goals and all that. If they could see inside his brain, see how often he overthinks (or underthinks, even), they’d reconsider.

"Why isn't there, like, a list of power parents?" he asks the following night while they're waiting for a new episode of Westworld to start.

"Good point," Louis says, after a sip of his beer. "We'd make that one too."

"We'd be number 1."

Because, if nothing else, he and Louis have done a remarkable job with Luna thus far.

He thinks of their home as her kingdom which she rules with grace and giggles and sometimes, a tantrum or two. They photograph and document her every achievement. They write lullabies for her that the rest of the world will probably never hear. They host dance parties in her honor, but the only guests invited are the dogs or Andy, when she’s around. It’s during one ‘party’ that The Luna comes into existence, which is a whole routine their two-year-old crafts to the sound of Britney Spears. A couple jumps here, a wiggle to the floor there, a full spin, and then, on occasion, a nap.

They’re great parents. He hadn’t always felt confident about that with Andy. (Although these days, seeing who she’s become, he’ll allow himself a pat on the back.)

With Luna, he has little to doubt. They’re doing alright.

†

Louis’ alarm goes off around 7 AM and a second later, he hits snooze. It goes off again in the next five minutes and again, he hits snooze. The third time, Harry mutters, “Just turn it off.”

So Louis turns it off and shoves his phone beneath a pillow.

Harry feels guilty almost immediately. He’s made Louis late before by turning his alarm off or telling him to turn it off. Louis is his own boss, but he has a routine. He wakes up at seven, goes for a run, has an egg and a cup of coffee, showers, dresses, and sits in traffic for thirty minutes. He likes to be seated at his desk around 9 or 10 am when the calls and emails start rolling in.

And when Harry starts fucking around with his system, it throws everything off, including Louis’ will to get out of bed at all.

“Louis,” Harry says, sitting up a bit. His husband is on his stomach, fringe obscuring his closed eyes. Harry brushes a curly tuft of hair to the side. “Time to get up, babe.”

“I’m not going anywhere today,” Louis mumbles.

Harry rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder and throws his arm across his back. “Oh, I love it when you say that.”

“I deserve the day off.”

“You deserve every day off.”

Louis laughs, the sound muffled by his pillow. “You’re a bloody enabler.”

“I am when it’s about you staying home,” Harry says.

“Should I go wake Lu?”

“Not yet,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “If you’re staying home, it means you have to stay in bed a bit longer too. With me.”

“Count me in,” Louis says as he turns over, lifting an arm for Harry to scoot beneath. Their heads end up cradled by one pillow, their noses close. He’s shared a bed with Louis enough times now that they mostly occupy their own individual space and leave the other to theirs. But he will admit that’s a sucker for this too. His eyes roam Louis’ face for an instant like he’s trying to download him into a dream, and then he drifts off.

When he wakes again, the curtains are slightly drawn and the bed is empty. Louis’ glasses on the bedside table are gone. Harry turns onto his back, pushing his hair away from his face and smells bacon. He debates between joining his family and sleeping for another hour.

Either concept is equally tempting.

He glances at the time. Sees it’s 9 and okay, he’s slept long enough. He shuffles into the bathroom. Does the usual to make himself look human.

He tugs on a shirt as he takes the first step. Belle races down ahead of him and he snorts. “You win.”

Louis’ got Luna sitting cross-legged on the countertop, a sippy-cup full of orange juice. The bacon is done and he’s working on eggs with his phone cradled between his ear and shoulder.

“No, I’m not sick, but I’m taking a sick day,” he says. “I’m not working from home, no. I’m not working at all. We’re not going anywhere. I mean, we might. But no, I’m staying at home with my family doing nothing.”

Harry slides up behind him, pressing his face into his neck, running his hands from his stomach to his chest. He snags a piece of bacon, meeting Louis’ gaze, his forehead wrinkling.

“Steve,” Louis mouths.

And Harry immediately understands. Steve Aoki doesn’t take days off to do absolutely nothing. The idea must confound him.

“I might take tomorrow off too, to be honest,” Louis says, laughing. “I’ll catch up with you next week, though, how’s that? We’ll get in the studio, yeah. Yeah, sounds good, mate. See you then.”

When he’s off, he looks at Harry, who’s started annoying Luna, kissing and blowing raspberries into her cheeks. “I’m a wanted man,” Louis says.

“I’m married to a fugitive?” Harry murmurs, lifting Luna into his arms. Because he can’t help it. “Sounds hot.”

Luna slaps her baby palm against Harry’s jaw and Harry pretends that the force of it is greater than it is. He swings his face to the side and clutches his cheek, gasping. Luna is completely amused, smiling, all gums.

Harry looks at Louis and finds him smiling too. “Should we turn your phone off?” he suggests.

“Maybe,” Louis says.

“I’ll hide it if you want,” Harry offers.

“Maybe both.”

In the end, Louis silences his phone, chucks it onto the armchair in his office and shuts the door. They have breakfast outside. Luna is on her blanket, slobbering on a toy. Harry curls his hand around Louis’ ankle, resting in his lap. He lifts his cup of coffee with his free hand.

"We should see what Bee's up to," Louis says. "We could all have dinner. Or see a film, even."

Harry smiles, running his thumb across Louis' ankle. "I'll text her and see."

Another stupid thing he thinks of sometimes:

He’s so profoundly happy it still scares him if he thinks about it for too long. Like right at this moment.

He still sometimes catches himself wondering if he’s allowed to have all this or if there’s some repercussion lurking in the distance, in another year or two. He doesn’t have those thoughts often. Only if it’s getting late and Louis hasn’t come home yet. Or once when Luna had a fever. Or when Andy says she’s flying home and they’re expecting a storm. He worries — not all the time but sometimes. About his big happy family and all the ways the universe could mess them up.

†

A few days later, they take Luna to New York with them for fashion week, which is the first time they’re taking her out of the country at all. Louis was all set to go alone, to see Zayn who’d teamed up with some designer on some collection. And then Zayn told him to “bring the fam” and Harry thought that was a lovely idea.

Except they’re on the plane and Louis won’t stop checking Luna’s seatbelt.

“Maybe we should have flown private,” Harry says. “You might’ve been more relaxed.”

Louis looks at him. Glares, really. “That’s for special occasions.”

“I think you losing your shit over her seatbelt is a special occasion.” He sighs. “She’s in a car seat thingy.”

“I read online that a child was literally thrown towards the back of the plane during some slight turbulence.”

Harry gawks at him. “What on earth—? Why would you read that before bringing her on a plane?”

Louis rests his head back. “We should have flown private.”

“It would’ve been excessive.”

Louis shuts his eyes. “Is it too early to have a drink?”

“It’s never too early for a drink. That’s why, on the seventh day of creation, God made mimosas,” Harry says, reaching across Luna to take Louis’ hand.

They look at each other very seriously and then they laugh, crinkly-eyed and quiet. Harry folds their fingers together and runs his thumb across Louis’ knuckle.

“Look at her.” Louis does. “She’s already having a blast.”

Luna looks back at Louis with those big baby blues that Harry gets weak-kneed and flustered over every time he looks at his phone; her face is his lock screen now and forever. She turns her head and looks at Harry inquisitively, as if she knows they’re talking about her. Harry wrinkles his nose and pulls a face that makes her smile. She looks so much like Louis when she does that, Harry could die.

He meets eyes with Louis who laughs, it seems, at himself. Harry kisses his hand and seconds later, the plane shifts into motion.

†

They're at some party that Zayn insisted they come to, at least to show their face. Luna is tucked into Louis’ arm, her head against his shoulder, and she’s wearing a pink suit with a frilly bow, her hair in a small tidy bun. Louis finds their table and passes her off to Harry to get them drinks. Harry sits with Luna on one knee, her head on his shoulder now.

“Are you sleepy, love?” he asks her.

She shakes her head, but she’s clearly lying.

“Hungry?”

“No,” she mumbles.

Harry rubs her back. “Just miserable then,” he decides. “We’re only going to stay for a little while. Then it’s off to your Aunt Fizzy. You haven’t seen her since Christmas.”

He presses a kiss to Luna’s head and rocks her idly, glancing around at all the unfamiliar faces and some faces he’s sure he’s seen on TV or in magazines.

“Oh my God,” someone says. The voice comes from his right. When he looks, it takes a second to remember who the woman is staring back at him. If not for Instagram, he probably wouldn’t recall her face at all. “Harry?”

And then it clicks.

“Hi,” Harry says, smiling. “Sophia.”

The woman looks around. “Is Liam here?”

“No, he’s in LA,” Harry says, and wonders if he should tell her that Liam’s moving back to the UK or that he’s planning to propose to Elvie. He thinks not. “How are you?”

“I’m great. Living here now,” Sophia says.

“How do you like it?”

She shrugs. “It’s nothing like LA and nothing like London.”

Harry wasn’t sure he agreed. New York was a little bit like London, although he’d only been a handful of times. Maybe he didn’t know it on the deep level people did once they’d lived there a while.

She takes a seat beside him. “This is Luna, isn’t it?”

“This is,” Harry says, trying to get Luna to turn her head. “She’s a bit grumpy right now, I think. Had to get her up early.”

“How me,” Sophia says, smiling.

“And me,” Harry says, switching Luna to his other knee.

“She’s so cute,” Sophia says, gasping. She leans forward a bit, touching Luna’s knee. “Very fashionable. She’s fitting right in here.” She sits up straight, reaching for her mimosa on the table. “Louis’s here, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Harry says, only just realising that it’s taking him a little while to find his way back. He glances around, craning his head a little, and spots him across the room, holding two cocktails and chatting with someone. Harry cranes his head a little bit further, sees it’s a man. A little further— He narrows his eyes. He thinks it’s Eric Fletcher.

Harry glances at Sophia. “I might go find her something to snack on,” he says. “I think I saw fruit.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, standing when Harry stands. She waves to Luna.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Harry says, and then he secures Luna on his hip, both arms beneath her bum, and makes a beeline. He steps up to Louis wearing a smile, before turning towards the man there. Definitely Eric. Harry smiles. “Oh, hi.”

Eric smiles back. “Hi, Harry.” He tilts his head, trying to catch Luna’s gaze. “Hello there.” And then he looks at Harry again.

“Long time no see,” Harry says.

“It’s been years,” Eric agrees. “Last time I saw you, Louis and I were dating. Now you two have a baby. A very adorable baby.”

He means it amicably, Harry can tell. He’s trying to crack a joke, so Harry laughs. But who even says that? And considering Eric had feelings for Louis for over ten years, Harry feels justified in treating everything he says with a degree of suspicion.

Nevertheless, he laughs.

“Time flies,” Harry says. He turns to Louis. “I think Luna needs a snack.” He exchanges his cocktail for their daughter. “I’m going to go find her something until lunch is served.”

Louis nods, securing her in his arm. “Sure,” he says, meeting Harry’s gaze.

Harry presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and smiles. He looks at Eric. “Nice seeing you again.”

†

They drop Luna off at Fizzy’s apartment in lower Manhattan. They felt bad at first — Harry did, at least — about passing their child off on a whim.

“Why should you feel bad?” Fizzy asks. "It's not like I've got a date lined up."

That makes him feel worse. He frowns while Louis sets Luna’s things on the table, seemingly without any remorse. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Harry asks.

“Yes, Harry,” Fizzy says. “I never get to see her. We’ll have fun, the two of us, yeah?” she says to Luna, swaying her. She blows a raspberry into her cheek, making her giggle.

Louis interrupts to press a kiss on Luna’s head. “Alright. We’ve got dinner reservations.”

Harry gives him a look. He kisses Luna and Fizzy goodbye and allows himself to be carted off, and shuffled into the car outside.

†

Growing up, his parents used to flirt all the time and Harry remembers thinking how weird it was. He had a very juvenile opinion of flirtation, mainly that it was a vehicle towards being with someone long-term. And that once you achieved all there was to achieve with a person, you didn’t have to flirt anymore.

That was decades ago. Decades before many, if not all, of his opinions changed. Decades before having actual proof that flirting never dies and never ends and he would never want it too.

There’s nothing better than teasing Louis. Or touching Louis for no reason. Or, for example, propping his elbow up on the table, resting his chin in his palm, and just admiring him. In the glow of a candle in the center of the table, Louis almost looks like he’s blushing.

“What?” he asks when he can’t seem to take Harry's oogling any longer.

“I just like looking at you.”

And it’s true. To put it as simply as possible, Louis gets more attractive every day. But also, there’s something settled about him that pleases Harry so deeply he can’t explain and can’t look away from. He loves the bits of silver in Louis’ hair. He loves the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He loves how he is with Andy and how completely at ease he seems as both producer and stepdad. There’s a maturity to him, body and soul, that Harry notices and can’t help but appreciate.

“Are you finished?” Harry asks, nodding to Louis’ plate.

Louis glances at his dish. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“I want to go to bed now,” Harry says, straight-faced.

Louis lifts his brows, his smile growing. “What about dessert?”

“What were you thinking?” Harry wonders.

“The cheesecake sounded good.”

Harry leans in a bit closer, even though their table is secluded and there’s no chance of anyone hearing them. “You can, like, eat it off my arse, if you want.”

Louis chokes a little on his wine, and Harry bursts into laughter.

“Guess that’s a yes. Get yourself a slice,” Harry says. He keeps laughing mostly because Louis can’t stop laughing, even when the waiter stops by and Harry asks for the cheque. They, unfortunately, decide against dessert.

†

Harry resists checking his phone once they’re back at the hotel, but only for a full minute. He texts Fizzy: ‘How’s Lu?’

She responds within seconds. ‘Are you and Louis not together? He literally just asked me the same thing.’

Harry glances towards the bedroom where Louis disappeared and huffs a laugh. Fizzy sends another text, a picture of Luna fast asleep beside Fizzy’s puppy. Harry’s heart breaks in the best way. ‘She’s perfect,” Fizzy adds, and Harry agrees.

He tucks his phone away. “Want a drink?” he calls out.

“Please,” Louis says. “Whatever you’re having.”

Harry pours them both a glass of wine. He steps into the bedroom where the fireplace has been lit and Louis is in the en suite. He’s brushing his teeth, so he can’t answer him right away which maybe is why Harry feels bold enough to ask—

“Was nice to see Eric, wasn’t it? It's been a while,” he mutters, sinking onto the bed, pulling off his boot. There’s no answer, of course. He lifts his head and sees Louis leaned away from the sink, looking at him, his brows lifted.

“What?” Harry asks.

Louis leans over the sink and rinses. He stores his toothbrush away and turns, leaning against the doorway. “Are you _jealous_?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Please.”

Louis laughs abruptly. “I knew it.”

“Why would I be jealous of a man you dated for a summer when I’m married to you?”

“That’s what I’m asking myself,” Louis says. He looks annoyingly amused.

Harry kicks off his other boot. “I’m not jealous.”

“It _was_ really nice to see him,” Louis says, and Harry glances at him.

“Good,” he says.

“Didn’t realise how much I’d missed him,” Louis says, stepping away from the bathroom.

Harry purses his lips. “Anything else?”

“It was nice catching up,” Louis says, taking a seat on the bed behind Harry. “I wish we could have spent more time together.”

Harry clenches his jaw. He knows he’s being baited, but he lets it happen anyhow. “You’re a dickhead, you know that?”

Louis’ laughter is a gentle burst of air on Harry’s neck that sends goosebumps running all down his arms. Louis kisses him right there, on the point of pulse, his arms coming around Harry’s middle from behind. He squeezes him. “What would you like me to say, love?”

Harry is indignant, playing stubborn even as he’s tilting his head to allow Louis more room.

“That it was nice to see him, but he means nothing to me?” Louis asks, undoing the first button of Harry’s blouse. “You know that. Or do you actually need reminding?

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“You were a little jealous,” Louis says. He’s got Harry’s blouse open now, spreading his hand across his bare chest, thumbing his nipple. “Do you know I spent almost every minute with him thinking about you?”

He digs the heel of his palm into Harry’s erection and Harry’s mouth drops open.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish,” he says, sounding breathless already.

Louis huffs a laugh. “Who says I can’t finish?” he asks, unzipping Harry’s trousers, pushing his hand under the waistband. “

“You looked amazing tonight. Always the loveliest thing in the room. Ridiculous for you to think I’m looking at anyone else.”

He pulls Harry’s cock into the open and gives him a squeeze.

“I’m going to get you off just like this,” Louis says, running his thumb over the head. “I want you to see yourself. Watch yourself.”

He tugs Harry backwards, the two of them shuffling until Louis’ back meets the headboard. Harry parts his legs, hooking one knee overtop Louis’. And it’s true that he knows, that he knew from the start: There’s nothing at all to be jealous of when he’s wanted this much, loved this much. But he thinks it’s worth it to play the part when it gets him this.

He feels cocooned between Louis’ legs, held against Louis’ chest, stroked and teased the way only Louis knows how. With how intimately Louis knows him, it’s as if Harry is touching himself. Except (obviously) better.

Louis’ phone starts ringing, and he stops mouthing at Harry’s ear, turning his head. Harry presses his hand into Louis’, thrusting into his grip. “You’re so needy,” Louis says.

“Would you just—”

Harry’s phone starts ringing and Louis’ hand stills. Harry glances at his mobile lying on the mattress, trying to catch his breath. Luna’s name pops into his head, and in an instant, it turns erratic — LunaLunaLunaLunaLuna—

Harry leans forward. Louis’ hand slips away. He snatches the phone up, barely giving himself enough time to see Fizzy’s name. “Hello?” he asks, tugging his pants back up.

“Hi, Harry. It’s Fizzy. I tried texting, but you two weren’t answering. I’m sure you’re busy—”

“No, it’s fine. Is Luna alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. Still asleep. I can’t understand Louis’ bloody handwriting, though. I’m trying to make sure I’ve got her allergies right. For breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Harry says, exhaling in relief. He pats Louis’ leg, knowing he’s tense behind him. “She’s slightly lactose intolerant. Like one glass a day or some cheese, but never both. We think she might grow out of it. And no peanuts. The other nuts are fine.”

“Ah, see, I thought Louis had written peaches!”

Harry laughs. “She’s not crazy about peaches, actually, but also not allergic.”

“Good to know.”

She says good night again and they end the call.

Harry drops his phone back on the mattress. “She couldn’t read your handwriting. I missed out on what could’ve been an incredible orgasm because of your handwriting.”

Louis lifts a pillow from beside him and swings. Harry tries to block it. He barely manages to, and then lunges for Louis, the two of them wrestling, laughing. He straddles him, pressing his wrists down. “You know what, Mr Tomlinson? I think I’ve had more than enough of you tonight,” Harry says. “Looking at other men. Lusting after them. And now you cheat me out of a handjob.”

Louis bites his bottom lip, looking delighted.

“You think this is funny?” Harry asks, brows lifted. He releases Louis’ wrists. “I think I’m going to take a bath _alone_. Going to have a nice wank while I’m at it.” He stands, snagging his glass of wine from the bedside table. “Nice romantic evening with myself.”

He makes it as far as the bathroom door when Louis tugs him close by the hips, Harry’s back colliding with Louis’ chest. Harry laughs. His wine sloshes a bit. Louis turns him around, kisses him. He backs him into the bathroom and kicks the door closed behind them.

†

“I miss Luna,” Harry admits, much, much later, after they bathe and finish that bottle of wine. He's busy tracing Luna’s name tattooed on Louis’ chest, right over his heart where a matching tattoo resides on Harry. His head is burrowed in the crook of Louis’ neck and has to pull back to look at his face. He frowns. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not," Louis says.

“Not yet."

Louis covers his face for a second. “I’m just glad it wasn’t me who said it first.”

“I was only baiting you. I was just trying to get  _you_ to admit _you_ miss her.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Louis says. Harry grumbles a complaint, totally not expecting it when Louis tugs him into a kiss. "I miss her too. Let's take her to the park tomorrow."

"Good idea," Harry smiles, smiling from ear to ear. He returns his head to Louis' shoulder. They take each other's hands, fingers laced. Harry looks at Louis’ wedding band, tugs his hand to his mouth, and kisses it.

“I’m crazy about you, you know,” Louis whispers. Harry meets his gaze and his smile turns soft, bashful even.

“Feeling’s mutual,” he says.

“I mean,  _so_ crazy about you."

“Okay," Harry says, chuckling. "Any other confessions you’d like to make?”

“I want to have another kid.”

His eyes go wide. “But you haven’t stopped losing your shit over the first one.”

“Shut up. I’m serious. Not anytime soon, but at some point. You’re a great dad. I knew that before Luna, obviously. But you’re amazing. You’re so calm—”

“Only ‘cause I’ve done it before.”

“You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“You downplay yourself," Louis says. "Like if someone compliments you, you disagree or you try to shift the attention somehow.”

“No, I don’t. I like when people say nice things.”

“Yeah, but you don’t always know how to handle it when they do? You’re a great dad, Harry.”

“So are you.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“I’m being nice!” Harry protests. “It’d be a bit awkward for me to just say thank you, wouldn’t it? That’s like saying thank you when someone says I love you.”

“Whatever,” Louis says with a laugh. “I do love you since we’re on the topic.”

“Well, thanks,” Harry says.

He still doesn’t know how to handle it when Louis looks at him the way he’s looking at him now. There goes that wild, bottomless love.

“I'm gonna love you until my heart stops,” Louis says, his voice much too soft.

“What’s got into you?” Harry asks, because now he’s starting to blush or sweat, or both.

“You just did it again. You’re deflecting.”

Harry groans. “I’m not. You’re getting your emotions all over the bed. I don’t know what to do with them.”

“You should try it,” Louis says.

“I say things like that all the time.”

“But try not to censor yourself. Like just say the words as they appear in your head.”

Harry is tempted to make another joke or fetch them more wine (because he’s not drunk enough for whatever this is). But Louis is looking at him, and if history is anything to go by, he’s not going to look away until he’s satisfied.

“Alright. I guess-- One thing I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is how lucky I am. To have you, especially,” Harry says, linking his fingers with Louis’ again. “Because I don’t know what I’d do or who I’d be right now without all this.”

“It’s not going anywhere. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

Harry smiles, but it must not reach his eyes or something because Louis looks at him very seriously.

“I mean it," Louis says. "Maybe you can’t know what the future will bring, but there’s stuff you can know. Like how much I love you. How important you are to me. To Andy and Luna.”

To his horror, Harry feels his eyes prickle with tears. Didn't take much at all. He smiles again and looks away, but of course, Louis still isn’t fooled. He touches the corner of his eye, gathering whatever's escaped there.

“Everything you have now — everything that makes you happiest — belongs to you. And you get to keep it,” Louis says. And then the knockout punch:

“We’re all yours,” he says.

Which is the title of a song he wrote for Harry and released on their first wedding anniversary. The meaning was clear enough to interpret at the time, but hearing him say it now, as an answer to Harry’s lingering anxiety, adds new gravity to the sentiment.

 _“These hands, this heart, this life,”_ he whisper-sang over the strum of a guitar. “ _I'm all yours._ ”

Harry kisses Louis and touches his face like he imagines touching a star. He knows better, but he’s always thought of them as being insubstantial clusters of space dust. Like an extraterrestrial snowball. Touch it and it disintegrates. He touches his husband like that, not because he’s afraid of losing him or because he can’t believe he’s real.

But because Louis is tender and soft, inside and out. He’s the innermost part of Harry’s heart. A whole nerve exposed. He’s sacred and singular and so worth the unknown journey that is life.


End file.
